


Shosholoza Meyl: A Pleasant Experience, or, Arthur Gets Laid on a Train

by Mellacita



Series: Travel Fic [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: First Time, M/M, Sexual Identity, Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-30
Updated: 2012-10-06
Packaged: 2017-10-28 18:20:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/310777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mellacita/pseuds/Mellacita
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur Pendragon is on a last holiday before assuming the mantle of responsibility, and receives an unexpected roommate for a night aboard the <a href="http://www.shosholozameyl.co.za/">Shosholoza Meyl</a> train from Johannesburg to Cape Town, South Africa.</p><p>Originally posted on livejournal in March 2010.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For , who knows trains. She won a contest and asked for Modern AU Arthur/Merlin. This was meant to be short and sweet. You know how things go.

The train left late.

Arthur wasn’t surprised by this fact; indeed, in the four weeks he had been traveling around South Africa, he could count on one hand the number of times public transport had departed on schedule. It was, his guidebooks informed him, part of the country’s charm.

The guidebooks hadn’t lied. His time in South Africa _had_ been charming, a wonderful way to pass the time between finishing business school in America and assuming his partnership in his father’s firm back in London. He had gotten too close to a cheetah in Kruger Park (he doesn’t care what the guide says, it was definitely a cheetah, dammit), gotten off his face (and then just gotten off) on absinthe fed to him by Norwegian bikini models (best part of any trip, ever, _really_ ) in Johannesburg, and then given a thousand Rand to the little girls he met on a Soweto tour ('you’re just fueling a culture of dependence', sniffed the Canadian development worker he’d fell in with at the lodge, but he had to do _something_ , even if it was the wrong thing). He hadn’t cried, precisely, at the self-portraits of Apartheid-era police brutality survivors at the Apartheid Museum, either (it was too dry for his contact lenses, that was all), but it was still a moving exhibit. And if his impromptu inclusion at a traditional dance competition in Durban made him look ridiculous, well, at least none of his friends had been along to take photos and put them up on Facebook. Arthur's idea of dancing generally involved shaking his elbows like a chicken.

Arthur rather relished the solitude this trip had given him. When he had felt lonely, there had always been a fellow traveler or three willing to join him for an evening or two (Norwegian bikini models, Israeli bartender, Brazilian anthropologist). Most of the time, though, he just sat back and took it all in, meandering about the country, relishing the opportunity to breathe before his entire world became a diary of obligation and appearance.

Now he was on an overnight train to Cape Town, his final stop before he returned to the real world. Back in London, his father’s associates had all regaled him with tales of the Blue Train, of dressing for dinner and drinking expensive wine as you rumbled across the savanna at sunset, but Arthur wasn’t interested. He was on the _Shosholoza Meyl_ , the everyday train taken by everyday people. His only concession to his wealth was to bring his own wine and to purchase two tickets to ensure he had the small compartment to himself. It _still_ cost less than dinner back home at Maze.

He got comfortable while waiting for the train to depart. It really was a tiny space; his ensuite at home was at least double its size. The bench seat was long, and covered in vinyl. Later, he’d fold out the top bunk to sleep in, but for now, he covered the seat with one of the many tapestries he picked up as gifts in Nelspruit. He fished a box of biscuits and a bottle of water from his bag of food and set it on the little fold-down table over the sink, cracked open the window, set his camera and a book on the seat beside him, and waited for the train to begin its day-long crawl to the Atlantic coast.

The sun was hot where it beat against the window and soon his compartment was so stuffy that Arthur started to doze off.

A loud knocking woke him. He rubbed a hand over his face as a steward opened the door to the compartment.

“I’m terribly sorry, sir, but as you no doubt heard over the speaker, the train has been delayed by two flooded compartments. We’re having to bring all those passengers over to these cars.”

Arthur looked at the steward blankly.

“I see that you purchased two tickets, Mr. Pendragon, but would you be at all willing to share with another passenger? We’ll compensate you for your other berth, of course.”

Arthur frowned. “I’m not really sure that—"

“They’re not going to let this train move until we’re all reaccomodated,” interjected a new voice. “I don’t know about you, but I’d really like to reach Cape Town before the football hooligans start arriving later this year and everyone loses their minds.”

A young man, dark-haired and slender, stepped from around the steward. He held out his hand to Arthur. “I’m Merlin. Mind if I bunk in with you?”

Arthur looked down at the hand and then back up to the man’s face. It was a nice enough face, and were Arthur inclined in any way to share his compartment for twenty-four hours, no doubt he would be a pleasant traveling companion. Even if he appeared to have appalling taste in music, judging from the thin tee-shirt he sported.

“I was supposed to come down for the World Cup, actually, but my father wouldn’t let me, said it was too busy a time of year,” Arthur blurted out. “I _love_ football.”

The young man blinked. “Oh, sorry, then. Still. Roommates? Er…coupé-mates?” He held out his hand again. He had a red cloth of some type wound around his wrist, like a wristband. Great, not only did he have appalling taste in music, but he could be sweaty.

“Please, Mr. Pendragon,” the steward said. “This has already delayed us too long, and I have thirty other passengers to situate.”

Arthur looked away, sighed, and turned back to the young man before clasping his hand briefly. “Arthur Pendragon.”

The steward slipped away.

The other man grinned, wide and bright. “I’m Merlin.” Arthur tried to keep his scowl, but Merlin’s grin was contagious.

“So,” Merlin began as he stepped into the compartment. “Love what you’ve done with the place.”

Arthur huffed and moved his camera and book to the table to make room for Merlin on the long bench seat while Merlin added his pack to the space above the door, fixing it to the rack with a padlock.

Looking back over his shoulder, Merlin said, “You shouldn’t put your camera there.”

Arthur looked up. “Why?”

“The window’s open and we’re stopped. Someone could use a wire to reach in and get it.”

Arthur rolled his eyes.

“No, seriously. I was robbed through a train window in Nepal once.”

“You’ve been to Nepal?”

“Yeah. Few years back. I’d been in India for work, then went up for some trekking after we were done.”

Arthur was skeptical. Crap band tee shirts. Scuffed trainers. A red bandana and was that a… _wallet chain_? Dear god. What sort of job could this kid do that would pay for him to travel to such places?

“I work for Habitat for Humanity UK,” Merlin offered. “Attended a training last week, now on holiday.”

Arthur huffed. “Do you read minds, too?”

“No, but they do say my ability to get rich donors to part with their money is like magic.” Merlin winked at him, and Arthur’s eyes narrowed in response.

“Just joking,” he added. “I don’t think the Pendragon Family Foundation’s charitable giving objectives mesh with ours anyway. Though I am sure we wouldn’t say no to a little general operating expenses grant, if you know what I mean.”

“If this is your usual elevator speech I’m shocked you manage to raise any funds at all.”

Now it was Merlin’s turn to roll his eyes. “I am much more persuasive in writing, I assure you. I’m also more persuasive when I am not stuck sweating in a cupboard-sized room on a train.”

“Mmmm,” Arthur responded. “So, how did you know who I am?”

“Told you, I’m magic,” Merlin said. He dropped down on the seat next to Arthur as the train lurched out of the station. Finally.

“Right.”

“You introduced your father at the Giving Council conference I attended last year.”

Arthur looked impressed. “I don’t recall noticing you there, so I guess you clean up decently. I am flattered you remembered me, though.”

“Photographic memory.”

“Or, I am just that unforgettable. I leave a lasting impression, what can I say? I’m charming, wealthy…”

“A prat,” Merlin grumbled.

“Well-educated,” Arthur was on a roll.

“Pompous,” Merlin corrected.

“Handsome…”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

Arthur didn’t hear him at first. “Although I suppose you wouldn’t know anything about that… Wait, what?”

“You’re a pompous prat?” Merlin looked at him hopefully.

“No, the other part. You said I’m handsome!”

“No, pretty sure that was you that said that. I was merely agreeing with you.”

“So you think I am handsome?” Arthur challenged, grinning.

“No, I was just telling you what you want to hear.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I don’t care.”

Arthur made a sweeping gesture. “You think I am handsome! If we were in America, we could have a bromance!”

“I don’t think that means what you think it means.”

“I think it’s great that you are secure enough, Merlin, to compliment a fellow man on his handsomeness. Bravo.”

Merlin gaped, his eyes straying up to his pack, which had rainbow ribbons on.

Arthur’s followed his gaze, his grin abruptly fading. “Bugger.”

“If you ask nicely,” Merlin replied, still a little off-balance.

Arthur sputtered. “Merlin! You can’t talk to me that way.”

Merlin kicked a foot up and rested it on the wall of the compartment. “Says who?”

“We’re sharing a compartment!”

“Okay…?”

“You’ll be sleeping above me!” Arthur wasn’t blushing. It was just that the compartment was warm and the train hadn’t picked up any decent speed yet.

“I know it’s difficult for you straight boys to believe, Arthur Pendragon, but we gay boys don’t go around jumping random straight boys against their will in train compartments, no matter how handsome or prattish they are. It’s generally more fun when both parties are agreeable.”

Arthur bristled. “How do you know I’m straight, anyway? How do you know I am not on the way to Cape Town to enjoy one of the world’s finest LGBTQRSTUV-whatever destinations and get my leather on away from the prying eyes of my father, future fiancée, gossip columnists, et cetera?”

Merlin laughed out loud. “Right. Are you then?”

Arthur didn’t answer. Of course he wasn’t. He didn’t know why he wanted to go to Cape Town. It just seemed like if one were in South Africa, one should go to Cape Town. There was…a cape there. And penguins! He read all about the penguins. It was right there, in his Lonely Planet, next to a sidebar about ”Gay Cape Town.”

Bugger.

Merlin just raised an eyebrow.

“I had a threesome with Norwegian bikini models at Diamond Diggers in Johannesburg!” Arthur protested. “ _Female_ bikini models.”

“I should hope so, although some men do look rather fetching in bikinis. Not me, though. Too bony.”

Arthur snorted. “What do I even say to that?”

“Nothing; please change the subject.”

“Right.” Arthur reached over to the table, where his camera still sat along with his food. “Biscuit?” he offered.

“Sorry,” Merlin waved them away. “Coeliac. Can’t eat gluten.”

“That sucks, sorry. Well, I think they had roast chicken on the dining car menu.”

“I don’t other living creatures.”

Arthur grimaced. “No wonder you have to travel all over the world. Day to day life must be dead boring. What do you eat then?”

“I can eat loads! Rice, vegetables, well besides nightshade vegetables like tomatoes and potatoes and aubergine; they give me migraines. Also, I can’t stand cabbage. My brother used to pelt me with cabbage from our field and it took forever to get the smells out. I can eat beans, though they don’t agree with me. I can’t eat soy unless it has been traditionally fermented. And I am allergic to peanuts, walnuts, and chocolate. Oh, and I am lactose intolerant. But other than that, I can eat everything.”

Arthur looked at his bag of food: dried beef, peanut butter, bread, wine, biscuits, and chocolate bars. At least he wouldn’t have to share.

“Seriously, mate. How do you even leave a sterile environment?”

Merlin laughed. “Just kidding. I grew up in a farm town; I’ll eat anything.” He snagged a biscuit from Arthur, their hands brushing. Arthur definitely didn’t watch Merlin’s lips as he chewed, either.

“You’re weird,” Arthur delcared.

Merlin dusted his hands off on his jeans. “I’m weird? You’re the heir apparent slumming it on the cheap train eating biscuits and peanut butter for lunch. Why aren’t you on the Blue Train, enjoying girls and glory and gastronomic delight? Why didn't you just fly, for that matter?”

Arthur shifted in his seat, not that there was much room to move with another person in the compartment. “Not you, too. Maybe I don’t bloody _want_ to be on the Blue Train! Maybe I _like_ eating junk food and sweating on a slow-moving train to Cape Town in a compartment with a random gay charity worker! Did no one ever think of that?”

“Touchy subject, I see.”

Arthur just sighed. “I’m on a holiday. By myself. Because I may never have another chance to be by myself once I go back to London, so I am enjoying it whilst I can. If I took the Blue Train, I’d have to dress up, chat to influential people who tell me what I want to hear, order good wine, and that would defeat the entire point."

“Makes sense,” Merlin commented, looking over at Arthur. “I hope you made good use of your temporary anonymity, then. I’d guess the Norwegian bikini models were a good start.”

Arthur grinned. “Oh, they were. Had to give them a fake number when they asked, though. They figured out I had money by the end and I had to give them the slip.”

“That reminds me,” Merlin began, pulling his mobile from his jeans. “Can I get your number? In case I ever want to hit you up for a grant.”

Arthur grabbed the mobile from his hands and snapped it shut. “Please. You just want it so you can stalk me until I love you, like the Lady Gaga song.”

“Fan of Lady Gaga, then?” Merlin had extremely limber eyebrows, judging from how high they were sitting on his forehead.

“What? No! They just play it all the time. Can’t help but know it, right?”

“Right,” Merlin said. “Personally, I think she's dreadful. Give me some decent music like Bob Dylan or something.”

Arthur groaned. Outside the small train window, the townships were rolling by at increasing speed. The sun was still bright and hot; it was just past 3:00 pm, and they wouldn’t arrive in Cape Town until after noon the following day. The flight was only an hour; why had he decided on this crazy journey?

~

By 4:00 pm, Merlin and Arthur had run out of small talk, so they sat in silence as towns gave way to farms and abandoned gold mines. Merlin had dug a book about Celtic mythology from his pack, and was stretched lazily into one corner, one arm bent over his head. Arthur back into the other corner of the seat, playing games on his iPhone. His occasional cursing was the only other sound in the room besides the incessant rolling rhythm of the train on its tracks.

Not long after, Merlin stepped out to the hall to find the toilets, and when he got back, he came bearing tea from the service car. When Arthur dug some Rand from his pocket, Merlin waved him away.

“On me,” he said. “It’s the least I can do, since you gave up your solitude so that I could make it to my gay Cape Town orgy on time.”

Arthur laughed.

“No, really. You’ve been surprisingly decent about it, all things considered.”

“Surprisingly?”

“Well, you know. Rich guy in search of alone time after a week of being harassed by hot, clingy bikini models ends up sharing a room the size of a cubicle with a, what did you call it, random, gay charity worker? I’m sure that’s not what you planned on.”

Arthur thought of his stepsister, Morgana. Her father had been Uther’s university tutorial partner, and together with his wife, he had planned out her entire life, with piano lessons, horseriding, and fancy public schools. Gap year in Switzerland. Then, Oxford, followed by marriage to a suitable man of means followed by two children, a house in the country, and an Aston Martin.

Her parents had died when she was still a child, and while Morgana knew what her parents had wished for her, she never pursued those things after Uther took her in. Uther showed her a degree of paternal indulgence he never permitted Arthur, so when she decided she would rather play ice hockey than dance ballet, or that she would rather date pretty human rights activists named Gwen than handsome barristers named Lancelot, Uther never reprimanded her.

If Arthur were to do anything similar, Uther would have a coronary. He fantasised, occasionally, about using his business degree to create public private partnerships to address the health inequities he had seen first hand whilst at Harvard, or to write business plans _pro bono_ for entrepreneurs trying to start small businesses, or to move into a carbon-neutral cabin in the hills and do yoga and grow his own carrots. But he couldn’t do any of those things, not as Uther Pendragon’s heir. Morgana might be able to get away with dating girls, but it wasn't like Arthur could take up with quirkily attractive, charity workers of the male persuasion and not expect for the excrement to hit the ventilation device.

Not that he was actually thinking of Merlin like that, because he wasn’t, and yeah, this wasn’t what he planned on, not at all. But at least he was on holiday, and not back home.

~

At 6:00 pm, they went together to the café car for dinner, both needing to get away from the confines of their compartment. True to his word, Merlin ate whatever was set in front of him, which was some sort of shepherd’s pie. Arthur had the roasted chicken with chips. They split one of the bottles of wine Arthur had brought along, and chatted with a pair of elderly women on their way back from a family wedding. Rose, the older woman, had heard their accents and became very excited as she dug out about 20 pound coins from her purse that she offered to change for Rand.

Arthur, confused, gave her some Rand. He lowballed the exchange rate so she got even more than the coins were worth. Merlin noticed that, judging from the small, fond smile he tried to hide.

“That was weird,” Arthur remarked as they walked back toward their compartment.

“Not really,” Merlin said. “You can’t change coins with most _bureaux de changes_ and a pound is a lot of money in many parts of the world.”

“True,” Arthur replied, although to be fair, he’d never really considered it. He had a dish filled with American coins from studying there. He supposed one day he might put it in the UNICEF collection envelopes during a flight on Virgin, but he’d not yet got around to it.

~

At 8:00 pm, Merlin climbed up to retrieve a deck of cards from his pack. His jeans rested precariously on the swell of his arse as he reached. Arthur definitely didn’t notice.

~

At 8:30 pm, Arthur glanced up from their game of gin rummy to notice Merlin staring at him.

~

At 8:35 pm, Merlin excused himself to go to the toilet again, and when he came back, he grabbed Arthur by the arm and pulled him into the corridor. “You’ve got to see this, Arthur!”

“This” turned out to be the most spectacular, violent sunset Arthur Pendragon had ever seen. The sky was dark pink and purple, a bit of orange near the horizon that stretched out as far as he could see, broken up only by an occasional tree.

Merlin and Arthur had pushed up all the windows in the corridor, and leaned against the railing side by side to take in the view. Arthur looked over at his enforced travelling companion and smiled.

“I hate to admit it, but…I’m glad you’re here, Merlin."

"Really?"

"Yeah. This train would have been much more boring if I were by myself.”

Merlin’s smile seemed determine to outshine the spectacular sunset. When he leaned over and kissed Arthur on the mouth, slow and careful, neither were surprised.

~

At 9:00 pm, the steward was a bit surprised when he arrived with their linen and found them still snogging in the corridor outside their compartment. He made up both bunks anyway, as in his line of work it was best to not make assumptions.

~

Arthur’s iPhone battery ran out soon afterwards, and Merlin’s mobile was on the floor buried beneath his jeans, so neither knew what time it was when Merlin slid from where they had been snogging on the lower bunk to kneel on the floor between Arthur's splayed legs. Arthur could feel the air, cooler now that the sun was down, rushing over his face as Merlin sucked him slowly, up and down, other hand brushing over his balls, until Arthur’s toes curled within his socks and he came with a incoherent shout.

As he sprawled back, breathing hard, Merlin crawled back up and folded himself against Arthur’s side.

“Sorry,” Arthur managed.

“What for?” Merlin asked, laughing.

“Well…you know.” Arthur gestured to Merlin’s mouth.

“Coming hard down my throat?” Merlin offered.

Arthur definitely was not blushing.

“It’s okay, you know. It’s sort of the objective of the activity,” Merlin teased.

“Yeah but…I mean…the taste?”

“None of your bikini models blow you?”

“They did, sure, but…”

“Here,” Merlin said, sealing his mouth over Arthur’s and slipping his tongue into Arthur’s mouth.

“Mmph,” Arthur protested, but it was half-hearted at best, and before long, Merlin was pushing him flat to the blankets and rubbing up against him and moaning and…

…it was a good thing the steward left two sets of linens.

~

It must have been the middle of the night, judging by the reduced activity out in the corridors. Arthur padded out to the toilets, hair a mess and his mind still reeling. He leaned out one of the windows and breathed in. So his holiday fling had taken an unexpected twist. So what? If he was going to go wild and crazy, now was the time to do it.

When he finished, he crawled back between the cool sheets and wool blanket to press himself along Merlin’s back. He slid one of his legs between Merlin’s knees, pressed his nose to Merlin’s hair, and let the train’s rocking lull him back to sleep.

~

“Merlin?”

“Hmm?”

“You awake?”

Merlin rolled beneath the sheets until he was lying on his back next to Arthur. It was still pitch black from the window; Arthur could see a blanket of stars in unfamiliar constellations. “Am now.”

“How did you know you were gay?”

“Just did.”

“Was it difficult?”

Merlin didn’t answer, so Arthur nudged him with his foot. “Was it?”

“Having an identity crisis, are we?”

Arthur sighed. “No.”

“So you’ve done this with loads of guys, then?”

“Only the one,” Arthur admitted.

Merlin groped for Arthur’s hand in the darkness.

“Did you want to do it?”

“I was hardly protesting.”

“Are you having second thoughts?”

“Only if we don’t do it again,” Arthur blurted out.

“Did you like it?”

“No, Merlin, I hated it, which is why I got off a second time purely on tasting my come in  
your mouth.”

“Well, I think my artful frottage had something to do with it, too.”

“Probably.”

“Yet you’re still turned on by Norwegian bikini models?”

“Hell, yes.”

“Then stop thinking so much and start doing more.” Merlin pressed a line of kisses up Arthur’s shoulder, and guided Arthur’s hand to his cock.

~

The sky was starting to lighten when Arthur asked Merlin to fuck him.

“What?” Merlin gaped.

“In a week I’ll be back in England, confused and shit and probably feeling trapped by a life not my own. If I am gonna be miserable, I want to have the full range of experiences to remember and be sad about.”

Merlin sat up, and Arthur shivered as the sheets pooled around his middle. It had gotten chilly overnight.

“That’s very…sanguine.”

“Ha. This is your fault to begin with.”

“Excuse me?”

“You show up here, invading my privacy, taking up my extra seat, and you had to be so funny and gay and gorgeous and…and…shaggable!”

“Was that a condemnation or a compliment?”

Arthur rolled Merlin over onto his back and pinned his hands above his head. “Please,” Arthur whispered.

Merlin shook his head. “You’ll regret it.”

“I won’t,” Arthur protested. “Please, fuck me.”

Merlin pulled at his wrists where Arthur still had them pinned. “Not in a position to do much of anything just now.”

Arthur released Merlin’s wrists and kissed him forcefully. “Please,” he repeated.

Merlin closed his eyes briefly, finally nodding slowly. “Okay.” He reached for the lube he had pulled out the evening before, and then into his wallet to retrieve a condom. “Okay.”

Arthur just stared at him intently.

Merlin waved an arm. “Turn over, on your stomach.”

“How…cliché.”

“It’ll be easier for you.”

“I don’t like easy,” Arthur protested, but he was already turning over.

“You will for this,” Merlin promised as he trailed his fingertips down the dips in Arthur’s spine until they finally rested on his arse. He gathered some lube on several fingers, and teased them lightly over Arthur’s opening. When Arthur gasped Merlin leaned down to whisper encouragement in his ear, and soon enough, Arthur was rocking back against Merlin’s fingers until he slipped one inside.

Merlin helped Arthur up onto his knees by that point, and while the one finger was still buried in Arthur, Merlin worked a hand up and down Arthur’s cock until it was hard and leaking. It all became a blur to Arthur after that point, fingers stretching him, more lube added, hands running over his cock, until he was sure he was going to need to bite his pillow or something similarly droll to be able to handle it all without waking the rest of the car.

When Merlin finally thrust up inside him, Arthur groaned and fell to his elbows. He knew he looked wanton, arse raised up high in the air while he pressed his face to the blankets below him and just sobbed with the pressure and intensity of it. When Merlin paused and rubbed Arthur’s flanks, asked him if he was okay, Arthur could only nod and whisper “please,” once again.

It seemed to go on forever, Merlin’s thrusts stayed hard and steady, in counterpoint to the rhythm of the train. The sun was rising, pink and hazy, when Merlin’s long fingers curled over Arthur’s cock again, deliberate pulls that made his orgasm twist tight in his belly and left trails of sweat running down his temples.

Merlin came shortly after Arthur, with a series of faster thrusts and pained-sounding groans. Arthur felt like his entire digestive system might drop out of his body when Merlin pulled out, but things settled back down almost immediately. He let Merlin run careful fingers through his hair as their breathing returned to normal.

“All right?” Merlin asked, finally.

“Mmm,” was all Arthur could manage to vocalise. When Merlin looked over at him, Arthur grinned, and the shadows left Merlin’s eyes.

~

At 9:00 am, they had breakfast brought to them, after the steward had removed the bedding and set the long seat back along the side of the compartment. They washed up as best they could at the small sink in the corner and tucked into the traditional fry-up that was one of Britain’s less destructive legacies to its former colonies.

Arthur looked up from his beans and toast to see Merlin looking at him again.

“Shut up, Merlin.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“No trouble sitting, then?”

Arthur glared. “Don’t take the piss, mate.”

“Not taking the piss. Just being gentlemanly and checking on your comfort.”

Arthur suddenly found that his beans were very interesting. Merlin, no doubt more experienced at post-first-gay-hookup-breakfasts, wisely dropped the subject.

“So, what’ve you planned for Cape Town?” Merlin asked.

“Well, Mandela’s jail on Robben Island, for a start. I’ve a family friend who owns a sailboat docked at Victoria and Albert waterfront, so I’ll probably go out on the water a bit. Do some shopping. Hike Table Mountain.”

“Don’t forget the leather bars.”

Arthur grinned. “Hit a few of those, too. And you?”

Merlin looked out the window as he sipped his tea. “My mum met my dad on Table Mountain. She did a year abroad studying here, and her housemother had expressly forbidden her from hiking up there. Too dangerous for a lady, she said. Mum was adventurous and liked exercise, so she did it anyway. One morning an activist in the anti-Apartheid movement almost knocked her over and apologised by saying his view of the sea was pretty, but his view of her was better.”

“Your dad,” Arthur responded.

“Yeah.”

“Your chatup lines are better.”

“Thanks.”

“So they met, fell in love, got married, had you, and lived happily ever after?”

“They met, fell in love, she got pregnant, he got driven underground and killed at a protest by police,” Merlin corrected. “Then she went back to England an unwed mother, and we lived with my grandparents until I was 10.”

“Oh.” Arthur looked chagrinned. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

Merlin shrugged. “I’m used to it. Anyway.”

“So what _are_ you up to in Cape Town, then?”

“Hiking Table Mountain a few times, I think. Drink cheap beer. I’m staying at Big Blue. I hear their bar gets wild some nights with all the travelers. Where you staying?”

“Er. The Hilton?”

“Philistine.”

“It’s got to have better beds than someplace called “Big Blue.”

“It’s a hostel, but it has some single rooms, too. Only 20 quid a night." Merlin looked proud of his fruaglity.

“Sounds like a deal.”

“Well, we charity types don’t make a lot of money no matter how many houses get built faster when I'm around.”

Arthur chuckled. “Right. You're magic.”

"Right. Anyway, the flier points make up for it a little."

"You must do well in that department."

“Yeah, I do. ‘Course, I can never seem to get the time and money together to go visit mum when I’m in Oxford, but I get around the world easily enough.”

“What did she think of your trip here?” Arthur asked as he finished his eggs.

Merlin looked thoughtful. “She understood the impulse, I think. She did ask that I try to avoid falling stupidly in love with someone I just met who will leave me alone and up the duff, though.”

“Good advice. Hey, at least you carry condoms,” Arthur pointed out.

Merlin just smiled, a little sadly.

~

At 10:00 am, Arthur repacked his rucksack, emptying it out entirely on the seat before repacking it. Merlin looked on, bemused.

“What’re those?” he asked, pointed to some wrapped parcels.

“Carved wood,” Arthur explained. “For my father, and the office manager, and William, who is filling in for me, and Sarah’s father.”

“Sarah?”

“She’s, ah, my…”

“Girlfriend?” Merlin supplied.

“Not precisely. We’re not together right now, but we are expected to get married in a few years.”

Merlin’s eyebrows reminded Arthur of his old paediatrician, the way they moved about willy-nilly.

“The woman you are expected to marry? What is this? The Regency?”

Arthur sighed. “That’s just how it is, Merlin.”

“So, what, you’ll marry this woman, have a couple sons to carry on the name, find yourself a person you love or at least have great sex with, and have a clandestine affair until you are both too old to care anymore?”

“Sounds about right.”

“That’s barbaric.”

“Maybe so, but that’s how it is. I’ve known that for ages, Merlin. It doesn’t bother me anymore.”

Merlin stood up and pushed Arthur, carefully, against the wall. “It doesn’t bother you anymore? Really?”

Arthur slid away sideways, away from Merlin. “No, it doesn’t bother me. Hey, leave your number and I’ll ring you up after the kids are born,” he cracked.

Merlin’s eyes shot up. “Fuck. You.”

Arthur sneered. “You took care of that already.”

Arthur regretted it the moment he said it, but by then it was too late. Merlin jerked around, gathered his things, yanked his pack from its spot above the door, and stormed out of the compartment.

Arthur looked at the compartment, empty of another’s belongings, food and water on the table, tapestry on the seat. This was all he had wanted, yesterday. A little time to think and relax before the last part of his holiday, the last part of life before adulthood. Now, all he could think was that the three hours to Cape Town would be the loneliest of his holiday.

~

Vineyards dotted the dusty terrain outside the windows, now, and the sun was high in the sky. Arthur’s pack was reassembled and orderly. He had passed his remaining food out the window to some of the little children who knocked when the train made one of its odd, inexplicable stops in the middle of some small town that didn’t even have a station.

He ate a sandwich for lunch, not tasting a single bite, and finally went looking for Merlin. He was several cars up, sitting on top of his pack and watching the land rush by the train windows.

Arthur sat down beside him.

“Merlin. I’ve been looking for you.”

“Why? You got what you wanted from me, didn’t you?”

Arthur put a hand on Merlin’s shoulder, keeping it firm even as Merlin tried to shake it off. He could feel the wiry muscles of beneath the cotton of his tee shirt, and he wanted so many things. Thing he couldn't have, could he?

“I might have wanted to do that before, with others,” Arthur admitted. “Even before I could name it or know or, you know, panic about it, I still wanted it I think. But I never could.”

Merlin didn’t look at him.

“I’m glad I did. That we did. I’m glad you needed a seat and I’m glad I had one to give you. Really, Merlin.”

Merlin just sighed, finally looking at Arthur with a resigned smile that Arthur returned.

~

The train pulled into Cape Town soon after. After they disembarked, Arthur stood, facing Merlin in the packed cacophony of Cape Town station, deliberately ignoring the “Arthur Pendragon” sign a driver was holding up.

Merlin nodded at the sign. “I think that’s your lift, mate.”

“So it is. Sure we can’t drop you at yours?”

“Nah. I wanna walk around a bit before I head over.”

“Okay.”

They stood in awkard silence another moment, before Merlin shook his head as if waking himself up.

“Right,” he said, holding out his hand. “Thanks for sharing your compartment with me, Arthur.”

Arthur looked down at the hand extended to him, and used it to pull Merlin into a hug. "It was _my pleasure,_ Merlin," he drawled. Merlin’s bark of laughter was lost in the crowded station, and within moments, he had pulled away and blended in with the rest of the weaving hordes, leaving Arthur standing by himself in the terminal.

~

Robben Island had been good, but a little depressing, to Arthur. The sailboat ride had been freezing. The penguins down on the Cape of Good Hope were not that exciting. The townships tour again made Arthur vaguely uncomfortable in a way that had him giving more Rand to more children, but giving the money didn't stop the discomfort. He went out dancing one night with the sons of Uther’s friend with the sailboat, and while he had plenty of offers, no one struck his fancy for more than a dance.

One night he complained of a headache, and instead went to a leather bar. Definitely not his thing.

He wondered what Merlin would say if he knew of Arthur’s little experiment the night before. He’d probably take the piss, as that seemed to be one of his unique gifts. It wasn’t Arthur’s fault he waited so long to acknowledge something he had known somewhere since he was a small child. Okay, maybe it was partially his fault, but really, who could blame him? He was a Pendragon. Self-awareness was not a familial trait.

With a jolt, Arthur realised he wouldn’t know how to find Merlin even if he did want to tell him about Arthur’s Adventures in Gay Bars. He didn’t even know his surname. He could probably find him through Habitat if he rung up…

…or maybe at a youth hostel called Big Blue.

Arthur stopped by Big Blue twice in as many days, but was never able to catch Merlin. The second time, he left a message with his mobile number.

Arthur checked his mobile constantly during dinner that evening while Mr. and Mrs. Coffey rabbitted on about their diamond cutting business and their dogs, but Merlin never rang.

Arthur had almost given up when inspiration struck.

~

Arthur set up Platteklip Gorge very early the next morning. It was a tough hike, but he had run stairs in plenty of stadiums and was able to do it in an hour and a half. He hoped this was the right choice; the other trails took much longer, and Merlin was thin and wiry like a distance runner; he could probably manage the Gorge almost as easily as Arthur did.

Arthur had been at the summit nearly an hour, taking photos, making notes, and trying not to look anxiously around every other minute when he saw Merlin at some distance away, taking in the view on the opposite side.

Arthur could feel his pulse stutter as he crossed over to where Merlin was, until finally he was standing right behind him.

“Nice view,” he remarked.

Merlin jumped and whirled around to stare at Arthur. He looked stunned, and thrilled, and maybe even a little annoyed at being interupted. But he was there, stupid tee shirt and scarf and wallet chain and weird buckley hiking boots and all.

Arthur gazed back, steadily, and reached over to take one of Merlin’s hands in his. “I have to say, though, my view is better.”

END


	2. The Fairytale Got Lost in the Post (But It Turned Up Eventually)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A timestamp, added later.

Merlin and Arthur have a happy ending, but it takes a while.

They go their separate ways after their (heady, sweaty, exhilerating) week together in Cape Town. It was neither acrimonious nor Before Sunrise-esque; they traded mobile numbers and intended to keep in touch. They even met up for a drink a few weeks after they had both returned to England, but Merlin was always travelling for Habitat for Humanity, and Arthur was...

Well, Arthur was seriously confused.

The trip to South Africa was supposed to have been a lark. A last hurrah before taking his place in the family business, before settling down with Sarah, before having babies and joining a polo club and getting a proper house with a garden. Instead, he'd returned from South Africa a different person; like his limbs were arranged in unfamiliar ways and his brain and his heart would no longer speak to each other. 

That had been Merlin's fault. Merlin, with his cheerful handshake and snarky commentary and the sinuous way he stretched to reach his rucksack above the door of the compartment they'd been forced to share for that long, slow train to Cape Town.

Merlin.

They'd met for a drink at the Eagle and Child. Then drink had turned into two, which had turned into three, which had turned into a broken bedframe and a set of carpet burns in Merlin’s flat outside of Oxford, where Habitat was headquartered. That had subsequently turned into a morning-after fry-up and a particularly angry-looking blotch of skin on Arthur’s collarbone where Merlin had bit down to keep from startling the neighbours.

It had not, however, turned into a relationship.

Arthur had never fucked with the abandon Merlin seemed to inspire in him, not before Merlin, and certainly not after him. Something in his life had turned over that day, and even though he took Sarah to dinner and back to his apartment with depressing regularity, he knew he’d never be the same again.

He kept Merlin’s contact details in his mobile phone, but he didn’t ring. Well, he had once tried Merlin at Habitat, but was told Mr. Emrys was in the States, at the Carter Center, and Arthur declined the receptionist’s offer to leave a message.

It's not like Merlin was trying that hard to find him, either. It may have been Arthur's turn in the game of phone tag, but Merlin didn't seem that keen on rules. Surely he'd have rung again, if he'd wanted. 

Some things were brilliant, and life-altering and breathtaking, but that didn’t mean they were meant to be.

“That’s bollocks, and you know it,” Sarah said to him late one night, when Arthur was still tipsy on wine and port and was waxing melancholy on the subject of fate and destiny and obligations to his family name.

Arthur had taken Sarah to the Giving Council dinner, and entertained a vague hope that they might see Merlin there, but Merlin hadn’t been in attendance. Arthur was half disappointed and half relieved at that. Relieved, because he didn’t think he had the courage to see Merlin. See him and be reminded at what he was giving up. Disappointed, because he'd have wanted Merlin to storm over, to make a scene, to tell Sarah that she was going to marry a gay man, that Merlin could reduce Arthur to begging and screaming in a way she never could.

He wanted Merlin to do his dirty work for him, and that, Arthur decided, was really shit. So instead, he and Sarah went home, had perfunctory sex while still half in their formal wear, and now Sarah looked over at Arthur with equal parts fondness and annoyance.

“Nothing is meant to be,” she told him. “You make it happen or you don't. You make choices, Arthur.”

Arthur felt himself sobering up quite quickly. Sarah pulled on her tights, and buckled up her shoes before leaning over him. Her hair smelled sweet when it brushed over his face.

“You make choices,” she repeated. “You choose to be happy, and then you go and grab on with both hands. Not for your father, or my father, or me, or anyone else. You.” She looked at him, and her eyes were understanding.

“I’m gay,” Arthur blurted out suddenly.

Sarah’s mouth curled into a rueful smile. “Yeah. You’re gay,” she agreed.

“Wait. What? You knew?” Arthur fully appreciated whomever had coined the term “gobsmacked.” It really was the only word that applied.

“Call it women’s intuition,” she said, wry. “Which isn’t to say I ignored that little voice for far longer than I ought have done.” She rose, gathering her coat and her bag from the armchair across the room.

“You make choices,” she repeated, before shutting the door behind her with a sad smile.

Arthur laid awake the rest of the night, and in the morning, he called in a favour. With the hour, he knew Merlin was in Nicaragua, leading a training-of-trainers, and had the address of his hotel and an overnight flight from Heathrow to Miami and a connection to Managua.

Exhausted, he slept the entire trip, and when he went through the customs and immigration, he was vibrating with so much nervous energy he was surprised they hadn’t asked to search his bags for contraband.

When he finally arrived in Granada, the sun was low in the late afternoon sky, and the hotel courtyard, with its potted palms and wrought ironwork bathed in sunlight, looked like a set from a black and white film. He ordered a whiskey from the bar, and hoped Merlin returned from his workshop soon and saw the note Arthur left under his door.

“Here’s looking at you, kid,” Arthur said to himself, before lifting his glass to the sky in a toast to Merlin, to Sarah, to Merlin’s father, killed while fighting for what he believed in, to himself. Maybe Merlin would shoot him down, but Arthur wouldn’t know until he tried.

“So, come here often?”

Arthur looked up. Merlin was stood before him, tie loose and sleeves rolled up, clutching a piece of hotel stationary in his hand. Arthur's hastily scrawled note. Merlin looked calm but for the way his left shoe was flexing up and down.

“I...I’ve actually never come here before,” Arthur said. His throat was so dry, he was amazed he managed to say anything at all. He took a gulp of his drink, and choked on it a little.

Merlin raised an eyebrow, and Arthur felt his face grow hot as he cleared his throat of the burning liquor. “That’s not what I meant!” he hurriedly added. “I’m not here for...I mean, I am, but, I’m...”

Merlin dropped unceremoniously into the chair next to Arthur. “Fancy meeting you here?” he tried instead, but he was grinning.

“Your chat-up lines are ridiculous,” Arthur informed Merlin with a huffed sigh.

“I’ve heard cheesier,” Merlin said. ”I’ve heard cheesier from you, in fact.”

Arthur shrugged.

“So,” Merlin said, after they sat in awkward silence for a minute or two, “your girlfriend with you? Your dad?”

Arthur licked his lips. “No girlfriend. And by now, I probably don’t have a father willing to acknowledge me either. It, ah, well. Turns out I’m gay.”

Merlin took a long sip of his drink to cover his surprise. “Really? How do you figure?”

“Well, I realised that I really like cock, for one,” Arthur said, and then looked around furtively. “Hmm, that’s probably not something to say too loudly here.”

“No, probably not,” Merlin said, laughing. “So, that it then?”

“No,” Arthur said, taking a deep breath. “That’s not it. I mean, I suppose I don’t have a lot of room for comparison, seeing as it’s only been the one, but I also realised I really, really like the bloke it was attached to, and I miss him, so I’m sat at this bar in a place where I can barely speak the language in the hopes that he might show up here, and maybe go hike Santa Cristina with me on Saturday or something.”

“A volcano?” Merlin said. “Brave choice.”

“Well, no one’s ever accused me of being brave before,” Arthur said, chewing on his bottom lip. “But I’m trying to cultivate it for my CV."

A smile ghosted at Merlin's lips. 

"What do you think? Is it working?” Arthur asked, looking away from Merlin.

Merlin covered Arthur’s hand with one of his, and paused as Arthur looked up, down, over the courtyard, finally returning to Merlin’s gaze reluctantly, like he was afraid of what he would see there.

“Oh, it’s working,” Merlin said, and he stroked one finger over the back of Arthur’s hand in a promise. “It’s definitely working.”

And then they lived happily ever after.


End file.
